Space Admiral Rodcocker and the Litchfeldian Adventure
by Ghostwritten
Summary: Space Admiral Rodcocker embarks on a sensitive mission to the Flagellenic Nebula, but when he's sucked into a parallel universe, his life is forever altered as he's reunited with his love Edwina.
1. Chapter 1

"Sir?"

Space Admiral Rodcocker was standing on the bridge of the _Time Humper_ , lost in thought. Beyond the thick glass of the viewport, the Greater Flagellan Nebula bathed the bridge in warm hues of blue and ochre. Candy colors swirled at the nebula's center, reminding Rodcocker of the pungeant but vibrant vaginal sweat of a maiden he deflowered in an Oresian parallel universe.

"Sir?" Major Taintlicker repeated, clearing his throat.

Rodcocker stirred from his reverie and looked up.

"Yes, Major?"

"The Bussard ramjets are online, sir. Hydrogen scoops are operational and fuel reserves are at optimal levels. Awaiting your orders."

Rodcocker straightened, then walked toward his command chair at the center of the bridge. He nodded at the conswoman, Lieutenant Sploogeguzzler.

"Engage!" he said, gesturing with his right hand.

The _Time Humper_ rumbled as its powerful ramjets came to life, and in an instant the nebula was gone, replaced in the viewport by streaking blue-shifted stars, stretching to infinity like the bioluminescent pubic hairs of an Andromedan Flux Swimmer.

"Taintlicker," Space Admiral Rodcocker addressed his first officer. "Did I ever tell you about the time I narrowly escaped imprisonment at the hands of a Cuntarian Razorsnatch?"

Taintlicker nodded.

"Several times, sir."

Rodcocker grunted. "I thought I might have. Never mind, then."

"Sir," Taintlicker said tentatively, "respectfully, you seem...distracted."

Rodcocker nodded. Although he was present on the _Time Humper_ , seated comfortably in his Command Chair, infinite versions of him existed in a multiverse: In one parallel brane, he was smoking Turd Opium in the lounge of a Twatillian Pleasure House. In another, a pair of Caitian princesses serviced his dual penises, their barbed tongues taking on the texture of wet sandpaper.

But most distracting of all to Rodcocker was a version of himself on a Terran world, where he stood in an enclosed compound, surveying imprisoned females of a strange race called human. All around him, the females sat on low benches, sniffing at a brown gruel that was supposed to provide them sustenance.

One of the human females spoke, and surprisingly, Rodcocker could understand her words.

"Officer Donaldson!" the woman called to him. "How are we supposed to eat this shit?"

The Space Admiral was on the verge of correcting her, demanding that she address him as a member of the Galactic Admiralty, but something stayed his tongue.

Strange noises formed in his mouth: "Just eat your lunch, ladies. You don't like it? Complain to Caputo."

Rodcocker surveyed the dining hall, his eyes sweeping across the tables. Was that...?

"Edwina!" he heard himself call.

She turned slowly, her eyes finding his. It was her!

"Edwina! My love! I've found you!"

"Rodcocker!" Edwina screamed delightedly. "Rodcocker, it really is you! I knew you wouldn't abandon me!"

Long moments stretched out, measured in heartbeats as Rodcocker and Edwina leapt into each other's embrace. For a few seconds, all was right with the universe. Rodcocker could feel his penii stiffen across multiple universes as he held Edwina tight.

But the universe conspired against them.

"Donaldson! Donaldson! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Rodcocker could feel hands on his shoulders and arms, tearing him from Edwina.

"Noooo!"

The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2: The Wrath of Rodcocker

Donaldson leaned against the wall, keeping one eye on the inmates in the TV room and another on the hallway.

"Admiral!"

He turned and saw Mendoza saluting him. Behind her, Flaca and Maritza also raised their arms in mock salute, giggling as they passed.

Donaldson fought back the urge to reply – he didn't want the inmates knowing this Admiral business bothered him. Besides, the Judy King verdict was in: For once, the girls weren't fighting over which channel to watch. Taystee, Black Cindy, Poussey, Soso, Chang, Chapman and the Dongo crowded around the small television, while more inmates were shuffling in behind them.

"Shush ya'll, damn!" Taystee yelled, bringing a finger up to her lips to silence the new arrivals.

On the TV, the judge was returning to his bench, and an expectant hush fell over the courtroom, mirroring the silence in Litchfield's television room.

The camera panned over the packed courthouse, settling on the jury foreman: A weasely-looking man who coughed nervously and held a piece of paper up as he read the verdict.

"…we the jury find Mrs. King guilty on all charges…"

The inmates in the TV room erupted into joyous celebration – dancing, whooping and high-fiving.

"Settle down, ladies!" Donaldson called out.

After a minute, the noise began to die down as the inmates wondered aloud whether King, the celebrity homemaker, would serve her sentence in Litchfield. Donaldson found himself wondering whether King would indeed become one of his charges. Maybe she'd be assigned to the kitchen, making those "good things" she loved to bake and fry on her show. His stomach rumbled.

Without warning, Donaldson felt himself being yanked back. He made to reach for his radio, but a hand clamped over his mouth and he was pulled violently off his feet. Belatedly, Donaldson realized he was being pulled into the supply closet that bordered the TV room, and he felt the air squeezed from his lungs as he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. The door slammed shut, and Donaldson found himself in near-darkness, gasping for air with his face inches from a filthy mop bucket.

A shadow moved, and his assailant grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. Donaldson's eyes widened as he recognized Mauren Kukudio.

"Don't. Make. A sound," Kukudio warned. "Got it?"

Donaldson nodded. She was surprisingly strong, and his lungs hadn't recovered from having the wind knocked out of them.

Kukudio pulled Donaldson forward and straddled him. It was a threatening gesture, not sexual – one knee dug into Donaldson's crotch, applying pressure as the inmate leaned in. Beneath tangles of reddish-brown hair, Kukudio's eyes glared at him.

"Suzanne is mine!" she breathed, "so don't pull any of your bullshit, do you understand me?"

Donaldson began to nod, but apparently not quick enough for her liking – she shifted, putting her weight on the knee that was pressed up against the CO's rodcock. Donaldson whimpered, but Kukudio slapped him hard.

"Say it! Say that you'll stay away from my Suzanne!"

"I…I'll stay away! I promise!"

But the pressure on his genitals didn't abate, and Kukudio's mentally unbalanced gaze remained fixated on him.

"She's not your Edwina," the unhinged inmate whispered in his ear. "She's MY Edwina!"

"Okay, okay," Donaldson coughed, "I get it! You can have her!"

"Good."

Maureen Kukudio stood up, dusting off her clothes with her hands. She turned toward the shelf and selected a pair of sinister-looking garden shears.

"Because if you don't," she said, flexing the blades, "you're going to be a rodcock short."

She straightened, then saluted him: "Admiral!"

And with that, she turned and bolted from the supply closet, leaving Donaldson alone on the floor.

"Sir?"

Rodcocker stirred, realizing that he had been daydreaming, once again visiting that odd parallel universe where he had taken human form.

He did not like this new parallel world. Everywhere he went, from the Galactic Core to the Chocolate Seas of Epsilon Eridani, everyone knew him as the Admiral, a man to be feared, respected, and serviced sexually. The galaxy's greatest worlds and civilizations paid tribute to him in blowjobs and top-shelf pussy – once the Time Humper appeared at the edge of a solar system, its inhabitants moved at once to prepare their finest females, having them bathed and perfumed for Admiral Rodcocker's inspection. Only the finest of them were permitted to service his rodcocks.

But there on Earth, that strange planet, they were insolent! Females dared threaten _him_? This could not stand.

Major Taintlicker was watching him expectantly, no doubt anticipating the Admiral's next order.

"Set a course for the Sol system," Admiral Rodcocker said, his voice booming across the bridge. "And ready the Penis Nukes. We are to battle."

Taintlicker raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"But sir, we've tracked Gilly to this system! This is our chance to wipe out that deviant interloper once and for all!"

Admiral Rodcocker stroked his chin.

"Gilly can wait," he said. "A new threat to Edwina has emerged, a human woman, and she will feel the Wrath of the Rodcocks!"


	3. Chapter 3: The Luschekian Cockblocker

"Fuck yeah…I haven't felt this good since I swam the lubrication lakes of Orgasmopolis with the Grand Fellatrix of Twatmar!"

Space Admiral Rodcocker leaned back, exhaling sharply as the two-headed slurpserpeant serviced him. One of the blue-haired slave girls shifted her weight so Rodcocker could rest his head in her lap, and her electric fingers moved deftly, massaging his scalp with orchestral virtuosity.

A fingertip pressed lightly on his lips gently reminded Rodcocker to open his mouth again as another slave girl fed him a candied fig. She was instructed to alternate between the Space Admiral and his tiger, feeding a plump, juicy fig to the slobbering feline for every one Rodcocker gobbled. The Space Admiral's tiger was named Buddard Stark, and he enjoyed the perks that came with being the First and Favored Animal in the Admiral's menagerie. Slaves attended to Buddard as well, offering him tokes of catnip from an eleborate hookah as they stroked his paw pads.

The Space Admiral needed this repose. The last Great Fuck he'd enjoyed had been in 3166, when he jumped the Time Humper forward several centuries for the opportunity to engage in a bukkake ceremony with the clone of Molly Ringwald. Rodcocker had always admired her fat, dick-sucking lips, and spraying a liberal amount of intergalactic splooge on her face had been on his agenda ever since he briefly stopped in 1985 to buy a new uniform designed by the Artist Formerly Known As Prince.

But Rodcocker should have known he'd be interrupted – despite strict orders to Major Taintlicker that he not be disturbed, Rodcocker heard the harsh chime of the Time Humper's intraship messaging service.

"Sir?" Taintlicker's voice was nervous. "I think you'd better take this call."

The Space Admiral ordered the message relayed on-screen in his quarters and told the slave girls to continue servicing him as the link was established.

Rodcocker flinched as the image materialized on-screen.

"Luschek the Luschekian," the Space Admiral said by way of greeting. "I should have known."

The Luschekian raised a hand in acknowledgement, his face partially obscured by a complex network of tubes and mouthpieces that snaked into his helmet, feeding him narcotics.

"We had an agreement, Space Admiral," the Luschekian said, vaporizer smoke escaping from his lips as he spoke. "You cannot take the Time Humper into the Earth System without signing off on the purchasing agreement. Such is the toll for gaining access to Earth."  
Rodcocker spat.

"I don't want your fucking heroin, Luschekian scum!"

Luschek the Luschekian laughed: "Suddenly you've developed scruples Rodcocker?"

The slave girls jumped as Rodcocker slammed his fist down on a table adjacent to the massage bed.

"It's Space Admiral Rodcocker to you, Luschekian! And scruples have nothing to do with it. That heroin is shit! I had to slash prices in half to get rid of that last shipment!"

The Luschekian grinned, then paused to take a long draw from a strawberry-red vapor tube feeding into his helmet.

"You're free to turn down my offerings, of course…" the Luschekian said. For the first time, Rodcocker noticed two figures in the background behind Luschek – one was urinating, sending an impressive arc into the mouth of the other while a small company of men and women dressed like Victorian-era nobility looked on, clapping politely.

"…but if you'd ever like to see your precious Edwina again, I'd reconsider."

The Luschekian cackled, and before Rodcocker had a chance to respond, the screen went blank.

 **-**

Back and forth, back and forth. Like humping hamsters, back and forth!

Suzanne finished the far section of the bathroom floor, then wiped her brow. As usual, Mr. Mop protested as she dunked his head into the bucket. He came up gasping, rancid water dripping from filthy strands of hair.

"You think this is a game?" Mr. Mop asked her, his tone mocking.

Suzanne ignored him.

"Vee was nothing. Vee was small time, just practice. Practice for the real game…the Time Hump Chronicles!"

"STOP IT!" Suzanne screamed, smacking Mr. Mop's head against the toilet stall.

Suzanne heard keys jingling, and turned to see Mr. Healy, his face poking into the bathroom from the hall.

"Everything all right in here, Warren?"

"Yes, Mr. Healy."

Healy smiled.

"Remember, Warren, when life gives you lemons, bring them back and get figs!"

The counselor's face lit up with a self-satisfied grin, and he was gone.

"That man doesn't make sense," Mr. Mop said.

"He talk platitude!" Chang called from one of the stalls in the far end of the bathroom, before releasing a cannonade that struck water like a belly flopping diver.

"That was nasty!" Suzanne called over her shoulder.

"You nasty!" Chang replied, sounding strained.

Suzanne spun around, a reply already forming on her lips when she noticed a handful of crumpled papers near the door. The Time Hump Chronicles – Fan Fiction Chapter 3, the first page read.

"Ugh! Can people just stop with the fan fiction already? I'll put out a new chapter when I…"

Suzanne stopped mid-sentence and put her mop down. There, plain as day, was the first line of the chapter: "SPACE ADMIRAL RODCOCKER IS COMING FOR YOU!" 


	4. Chapter 4: The Time Humper

No one would believe her, but she was absolutely sure she saw it.

Suzanne was standing in Litchfield's yard, engaged in a lively discussion with herself about the merits of pickles marinated in apple sauce, when she saw its outline. There, above the treeline! Refracted light bent around its edges, forming the faintest silhouette against the backdrop of smoky clouds. A starship!

She realized that if you watched it intently, and tried really hard not to blink, its optical camouflage would fail for the briefest of milliseconds, revealing the ship in an almost-unconscious flash, like a single frame of something obscene inserted into a film reel.

After several minutes, Suzanne closed her eyes, committing the starship's form to memory. It was magnificent! Its hull was all obsidian plating and elaborate stonework, giving the ship the appearance of a massive cathedral floating in space. Instead of towers or minarets, the ship's spires extended skyward in the form of rock-hard, throbbing penises. The penile spires were capped by sculpted cockheads, flanging out from their shafts, with bulbous observation bubbles forming the testicles below.

The front of the vast ship was marked with a prominent logo, a glowing, stylized rendering of two cocks twisting around each other like a double helix, superimposed over the letter R.

The _Timehumper_ was exactly as Suzanne had imagined it, and for a minute she wondered if she was really seeing the starship, or if the bitch from Minnesota had sold her bad valium again. Really, which was more likely? Bad valium, or a cathedral-size starship festooned with spires and cannons that looked like erect cocks?

Suzanne nodded to herself. Bad valium.

" _That's_ settled, then," she said, turning to go back across Litchfield's yard...

...when a mud-brown starling arced across the cloudy sky, and struck something invisible. For a half second, the ship's outlined shimmered before the optical camouflage corrected itself. The starling dropped like a sack of rocks.

"He's here."

Suzanne spun around, startled by the voice. It was Luscheck, standing a few paces behind her, hands in his pockets as his gaze remained affixed to the same spot in the sky where the bird met its untimely demise.

"Who's h..h..here?" Suzanne stammered.

The corners of Luscheck's mouth curled into a sinister grin.

"The Two-Pronged One, He Who Fucks the Galaxies, Lord Protector of the Bukkake Supplicants, Exchequer of the Milky Way," Luscheck said gravely. "Admiral Rodcocker."

Suzanne fainted.


	5. Chapter 5: The Fapping Warden

Brook Soso wiped a tear from her cheek, nodded, and stood to leave. Joey Caputo pretended to turn his attention toward a thick stack of files on his desk, but as soon as Soso turned around he looked up and drank in her ass, drawing mental curves to visually map her plump backside under her drab brown prison garb.

Soso stopped at the door, looking back at him.

"Do you want this closed, Mr. Caputo?" she asked, still red-eyed.

"Yes, thank you, Soso. Keep your head up," he said softly, then waited until the inmate left his office.

Whistling a tune, Caputo turned to his desk drawer, cheerfully selecting a jumbo box of tissues and a 16 ounce bottle of L'Occitane shea butter lotion. The good stuff. Caputo doesn't fuck around when it comes to masturbatory paraphernalia. Only the most luxurious of lotions for his cock.

He spun around in his pleather managerial chair and was about to close the blinds when he saw Joel Luschek out in the yard, bolting by the window with Suzanne Warren in tow. They crouched low and took cover near the corner of the building, just within Caputo's field of vision.

They looked like children playing capture the flag or hide and seek. What the fuck were they doing? Luschek was out of breath, his chubby form heaving as he fished a vapor pen out of his right pocket and took a long drag. He exhaled in a plume of mist, closed his eyes and rested his head against the brick wall like a junkie whose opiate fix just hit the bloodstream.

Warren looked terrified, and her eyes kept darting skyward, looking for something. Looking for what? There was nothing but cloudy sky.

Fuck it. Whatever they were doing, it could be dealt with later. For now, Caputo had a date with his mental image of a naked and quivering Brook Soso, and he wasn't going to let Luschek cockblock a perfectly good fapping session.

Caputo closed the blinds of his office window, then began whistling again as he squeezed out a generous helping of lotion.

* * *

Suzanne glared at Luschek.

"How can you be smoking pot at a time like this?"

Luschek shook his head, his eyes still closed after exhaling an enormous hit.

"It's vapor, Warren. It's healthier than smoking. You get all the cannabinoids without any of the nasty chemical byproducts you'd get by smoking a..."

"I don't care!" Warren snapped. "What are we going to do about that?"

Luschek opened his eyes, and followed Suzanne's finger toward a patch in the sky that didn't look quite right. It was the Time Humper, in geosynchronous orbit far above Litchfield. The ship's optical camouflage did an admirable job of concealing it from human eyes, but a faint outline remained where the edges of the ship bent the light, giving away its position if you knew where and how to look.

"Right," Luschek said. "This is really good shit."

From another pocket, Luschek produced a small pistol and handed it to Suzanne.

"Anti-penile tachyon pistol," the C.O. said. "One blast will vaporize the Space Admiral's henchmen. It won't do anything to Rodcocker or senior officers like Major Taintlicker. They've got serious armor. If you see them, run. And if you see Buddard, find the nearest building or tree, and climb!"

"Buddard?"

Luschek nodded. "The Space Admiral's tiger. He's a coddled animal, but a dangerous beast all the same."

Suzanne was dumfounded.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Luschek unclipped a device from his utility belt and punched a few buttons, bringing up a holographic display of Litchfield and its environs.

"Just someone who has a settle to score with the good Space Admiral," Luschek said. "In the local systems, they call me the Luschekian."

* * *

"Oh! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, yessss!"

Piper Chapman squirmed, all wetness and deep breaths as Alex Vause's fingers worked magic inside her.

"Shhhh!" Alex clamped a hand over Piper's mouth. "Someone's gonna hear us."

"I don't care."

Piper pulled the other woman toward her, letting out a scream as a bolt of pleasure electrified her body.

Alex risked a nervous glance over the pew toward the chapel's entrance.

"Don't stop! Don't stop!"

Alex laughed.

"Then you need to shut up!"

* * *

"Luschek. Luschek!"

Warren had followed the C.O. through the building's east entrance, where the chapel wing met Litchfield's yard. Luschek had been all business. Now he was frozen, ears perked up next to the chapel door. It was slightly ajar, painting the pews in a thin strip of flourescent light from the hallway.

Luschek raised a finger, signaling for her to be quiet and wait.

Suzanne's heartbeat slowed, and slowly she became aware of another sound. Puckering, moist, sloppy. She heard something thump against one of the pews, then muted giggling.

Luschek turned back to Suzanne, bringing a finger to his lips. He crouched low, sucked in his gut, and edged his way through the narrow crack in the door like a waddling penguin.

Suzanne followed him wordlessly, easily slipping through into the dark chapel.

Luschek took a left once inside the door, proceeding on all fours to the far side of the pews like a stoned baby. Suzanne followed until the chubby C.O. stopped.

She wondered what Luschek was thinking. Had he sensed Rodcockerian henchmen behind them? Did he think the Space Admiral's marines wouldn't bother checking the chapel after storming the prison?

The sounds were loader now. A muffled moan. Puckering lips. Heavy breathing.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Suzanne realized Luschek had one hand over his crotch and was massaging himself. Disgusting! When she followed his gaze, she recognized Alex Vause. Alex Vause and...and...

"Dandelion!"


End file.
